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I woke with a gasp, my heart slamming in my chest. My room was dark, too dark, and the silence pressed against my ears like a suffocating weight. I looked around in a panic, sweat clinging to my face, neck, and skin. The sheets beneath me were damp, tangled around my legs.

Where is it?

Frantically, I searched the bed until my fingers brushed against the smooth plastic of my earbuds. I jammed them into my ears with trembling hands, and the wild music blasted into my hearing, flooding the silence, grounding me. Slowly, my breathing steadied, though my heart still felt as if it might break through my ribs.

I reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on. Light flooded the room, pushing the darkness into the corners. I could finally breathe.

I must've removed the earbuds in my sleep. But I don't remember turning off the lamps.

A shudder passed through me as I pulled my knees to my chest, resting my forearms on top of them, my hands covering my face.

It was just a dream. It's just a dream. Just a dream.

But the heaviness in my chest lingered, a dark, shadowy thing that clung to me even now.

I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep again. Not tonight. Without hesitation, I slid out of bed and padded quietly to the adjoining study nook. The desk stood neatly organized, everything in its place, textbooks stacked in perfect alignment, color-coded highlighters in their tray, my personal computer gleaming silently, waiting. At my touch, it hummed to life, casting a soft glow across the room.

I sat down, flipping open my study notes, and let the familiar rhythm of review pull me back into order. I revised everything I had memorized the night before, calculus formulas, annotated passages from literature, historical timelines. I was relentless, pouring over the material, letting it consume me.

Hours passed, the dark of night giving way to the pale blue light of dawn. My alarm chimed softly, signaling breakfast. I didn't move. I had one more chapter to finish, one more problem to solve before I could allow myself that luxury. I wouldn't waste a single minute.

It was almost six by the time I descended the grand staircase. The morning light slipped through the silk curtains, spilling soft golden rays across the hall. The dining room was set, just as it always was, though empty.

Mother wasn't home. Not that I expected her to be.

As I took my usual seat at the head of the table, a woman—new, by the looks of her—entered the room, dressed in a stiff uniform. She smiled as she placed a tray with my tea in front of me, just as I liked it. I didn't smile back.

"Did you enter my room?" I asked, my tone sharp.

The woman looked taken aback, but she recovered quickly, still smiling. "Yes, miss. I was putting your washed school uniform in the bathroom."

"Did you turn off my lamp?"

Her smile faltered slightly, but she nodded. "Yes, I figured you must have been tired from all your schoolwork and forgot to turn it off. My younger brother does that sometimes when he—"

"Never do it again." My voice cut through her words, cold and firm. I saw her mouth clamp shut, her smile now a strained line.

"I prefer for no one to touch what they're not supposed to. Are we clear?" I met her eyes, holding them, my gaze hard, just like Mother's.

The woman froze under my stare. Fear flickered in her eyes, but she nodded quickly. "Yes, miss. I understand."

"Good." I let a smile bloom across my face, soft and sweet, dimples showing, just as I had practiced. "Thank you for the tea."

She backed out of the room, her steps hurried. I was already done with her. I sipped my tea and glanced at the perfectly arranged breakfast, croissants, fruit, and more tea. My fork scraped against the porcelain plate in the empty room, the silence broken only by the soft clinks of silverware.

No one to talk to. No one to check on me. But that was fine. I didn't need anyone.

I had perfected the art of solitude. My thoughts focused on the day ahead, the tasks waiting for me at school, the roles I had to play, the image I needed to maintain. There was no room for mistakes. Not today. Not ever.

I wouldn't fail. I couldn't.

๋࣭ °࣪ ִ⭑․𓃠⭒˚.• ݁

Fictus Academy was already alive with the buzz of morning activity by the time I walked through the school gates. The morning sun was still bright, casting a warm glow over the campus grounds, and the chatter of students filled the air. I kept my head held high, my steps even and deliberate, a calm, composed smile fixed firmly on my face.

"Good morning, Desiree!"

"Hey, Desiree! Looking beautiful as always!"

I nodded in acknowledgment as they greeted me with polite admiration. They always did. My uniform, tailored to perfection hugged my slim frame, giving me an air of elegance, and something more subtle, something powerful. The girls admired me, the boys, even more so. And why wouldn't they? I'd spent the last three weeks here perfecting my image, the perfect student, flawless in both appearance and performance.

The academy was pristine, its towering columns and glass-paneled windows gleaming in the morning light. Though modern, the building had a stately feel to it, as if it had always existed, demanding respect from everyone who entered.

In the grand hallway, the floors gleamed with the reflection of students milling about. Portraits of past scholars lined the walls, reminding us all of the legacy we were meant to uphold.

I continued down the hallway to my first class of the day, advanced biology. The room was already half full. The familiar hum of air conditioning and the sterile scent of the classroom were a reminder that summer still lingered, though school was now in full swing, as students chatted in low murmurs. I slipped into my usual seat at the front without a word, pulling out my notebook and pen.

The class filled quickly, and soon the teacher began the lesson. Mr. Jacobs, with his thick glasses and perpetual frown, launched into a lecture on cellular respiration. He was a man of few smiles but high expectations, especially for those of us at the top. I answered each of his questions with precision, my voice steady and confident.

"Excellent, Desiree," he said, nodding in approval after I gave a detailed explanation of glycolysis. "You're correct, as usual."

Of course, I was.

Halfway through the lecture, one of my classmates, Jeremy, a boy sitting a few seats behind me, stumbled over a particularly complex explanation of the citric acid cycle. He trailed off awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, and then with a grin, he glanced around the room.

"Can I phone a friend?" he joked, laughter rippling through the class.

Some students chuckled, but there was still an air of tension, everyone waiting to see what would happen next. I hesitated for only a second before speaking up, keeping my tone light but helpful.

"Jeremy, coenzyme A is key," I said, offering just enough of a prompt. "Once you have that, the rest falls into place."

Jeremy's eyes lit up as the realization clicked. "Yes, yes, yes! That—thanks, Desiree." He quickly turned back to the board, his confidence returning. With renewed energy, he continued explaining the rest of the cycle smoothly, his earlier uncertainty completely gone.

The class relaxed as he wrapped up, and I could feel a slight shift in the atmosphere. No longer tense, the room settled back into its usual rhythm. Jeremy shot me a quick, grateful smile.

I smiled back, but not too warmly. It was enough to keep the interaction friendly without crossing the line into anything more personal. I was helpful, but not overly familiar, just enough to maintain the perfect balance of approachability without letting anyone get too close.

Mr. Jacobs gave a curt nod of approval before moving on, and I relaxed slightly.

By lunchtime, I had already finished my assignments for the week. The other girls waved me over to join them, but I chose a quieter spot in the courtyard instead. The sun was still high. I settled at a table beneath one of the large oak trees, pulling out my notes to review as I picked at my lunch.

From afar, I could feel the eyes of other students on me. They probably wondered why I didn't join them, why I always kept to myself during lunch. But their curiosity didn't concern me. This was how I stayed focused, how I stayed perfect. Let them watch.

๋࣭ °࣪ ִ⭑․𓃠⭒˚.• ݁

As the day drew to a close, the Student Council Election began in the grand auditorium. The entire school gathered, and the air was thick with excitement. I had been nominated for Vice President, not the highest position, but one of influence nonetheless. I sat in the front row, my hands folded neatly in my lap, waiting as the votes were counted.

Ethan won the presidency, as expected. His popularity carried him far, and his broad grin reflected his victory. The applause was loud as his name was announced, and I joined in with the others, smiling gracefully. Deep down, a part of me felt a flicker of something darker, disappointment, perhaps but I buried it quickly.

My name was called next for Vice President, and I rose to join Ethan on stage. His handshake was firm, his smile wide. "Congrats, Desiree," he said, his eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction.

"Thank you," I replied matching his tone and offering my own smile.

As I stood on stage, looking out over the crowd, I reminded myself once again that appearances were everything. And no matter the circumstances, I would never let mine falter.

Not today.

๋࣭ °࣪ ִ⭑․𓃠⭒˚.• ݁

The moment I stepped into my mother's office, the familiar chill of the sterile environment washed over me. The air was cold, both in temperature and in atmosphere. It was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and stayed there. The sleek, minimalist design, with its sharp lines and metallic surfaces, felt impersonal, as if warmth had no place in this space. Everything was exactly as Eveline Hart liked it, impeccable. Every piece of furniture was strategically placed, every award and certificate mounted with precision, a testament to her iron grip on her world.

At the center of it all sat my mother, poised behind her enormous glass desk, her fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the polished surface. Her eyes were fixed on her monitor screen, the glow reflecting off her face in the dim light of the room. She didn't acknowledge me when I entered. She didn't need to.

I stood there for a moment, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. I had rehearsed what I would say a thousand times on the way home, but now, in front of her, the words stuck. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, louder than the quiet hum of the office.

"Vice President?" Her voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade. She still didn't look up, her attention seemingly locked on the invisible data on her screen.

I swallowed the knot in my throat and took a breath, steadying myself. "Yes, Mother. I was elected Vice President of the Student Council today."

The silence that followed was suffocating. I had expected it, but somehow it still weighed down on me like a lead blanket. My words hung in the air, unanswered.

"Why not President?" Her question, though softly spoken, dripped with icy disapproval. She finally turned her head toward me, and the look in her eyes made my stomach drop.

I held my ground but I could feel the familiar sting of inadequacy creeping up my spine. "I'm new at Fictus Academy," I began carefully, my voice measured. "Many of the students are more familiar with Ethan. He has more connections, more friends—"

"The election was fair," I added quickly, hoping that might soften the blow, though deep down I knew it wouldn't.

Mother's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressing together in a thin line as she looked back to her desk, picking up a thick folder and sliding it across the surface toward me. "Do you know why I called you here?" she said, her tone soft but no less commanding.

"No, Mother, but I assume it's important."

"It's about Wallace."

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of his name, but I didn't flinch. Instead, I kept my face neutral. "Wallace?"

"Yes. His little escapades have been entertaining, but I believe it's time we reel him back in."

I blinked, my fingers hesitating over the folder lying on my mother's pristine desk. I didn't need to open it to know what it contained. The file was thick, likely stuffed with Wallace's life, his secrets, his recent activities, and every move he'd made in the past months. Mother must have hired her usual team of private investigators, the ones she kept on retainer to monitor anyone of interest.

"You need to learn everything about him." My mother's voice was as sharp as ever, slicing through the tension like a blade. "Make sure there are no surprises. I don't care what rebellion he's playing at this time, he's still a crucial part of our future. I expect you to keep him in line. Your engagement to him must proceed without any issues. Do whatever it takes."

My grip tightened around the folder, the smooth texture of the leather binding growing slippery under my clammy fingers. The weight of the file was nothing compared to the pressure building inside me. "Yes, Mother," I managed to say, though my voice felt distant, hollow.

She moved toward me, her gaze never wavering, her heels tapping with a deliberate, calculated rhythm against the polished marble. She stopped mere inches away. I could feel the intensity of her stare, searching for any sign of weakness.

"You do want what's best for this family, don't you?" Her voice was low, but it carried an edge, a veiled threat behind the seemingly innocent question.

I forced myself to meet her gaze, refusing to look away, even though I wanted to. I could feel my pulse quicken, but I kept my face neutral. "Always," I replied with a smile and voice steady, despite the rising tension in my chest.

Her eyes flickered with something, satisfaction, maybe and she reached out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The gesture was soft, almost tender, but it sent a chill down my spine.

"Good," she said, her lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned away, her focus already shifting back to whatever important task awaited her.

"Now go."

I nodded once, turning on my heel and walking out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I allowed myself a single deep breath, the tightness in my chest easing slightly. My fingers curled into a fist at my side, nails biting into my palm.

"Do whatever it takes."

Her words echoed in my mind, their meaning heavy with expectation. I had heard them so many times before, but they felt different now. There was something about Wallace, something that made this task feel... complicated.

I walked down the long corridor, the sound of my footsteps amplifying the growing restlessness inside me. As I passed by the rows of pristine, sterile rooms, I glanced down at the folder in my hand. For a moment, I considered throwing it away, pretending I never saw it. But I knew better. There was no escaping my mother's plans, no ignoring the expectations she had laid on my shoulders since I was old enough to understand them.

Reaching a quiet corner of the house, I sank into a leather armchair, placing the dossier in my lap. I stared at it for what felt like an eternity before finally opening the file.

The first page was a photo of Wallace, taken from a distance. He looked tired, and disheveled, as if the weight of his own expectations had worn him down. As I flipped through the pages, reading the details of his life since he'd run away from his house, I found myself drawn deeper into his world. I scanned through notes on his finances, the people he associated with, the nightclubs he frequented, and every aspect of his life laid bare. Yet, the more I read, the less I felt I understood him.

I should've been focusing on how to manipulate him, how to ensure he would fall in line with Mother's plans. But instead, a strange feeling stirred within me.

I paused on a photo of Wallace standing alone in a street, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression distant. He looked so... lost. And for the first time, I wondered if maybe we weren't so different after all.

"How far will I go?"

The question lingered as I closed the file and sat in silence, the weight of the decision ahead pressing down on me. Whatever it took to meet my mother's expectations, that's what I had always done. But now, looking at Wallace's life spread out before me, I wasn't sure if I could keep doing it.

𓇢𓆸

Hey lovables!

Did you enjoy this chapter as much as I loved writing it?  

Oh, by the way, here's a fun detail 💫

At the start of each chapter, I've been adding a line from a song that I think fits the mood 𓂃˖♪ ݂۫ 

Did you spot the line in this one? Any guesses on what song it's from? 👀

Thank you for reading!

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